Ascent into Empyrean
by Manita
Summary: WIP. All chapters subject to revision. Warnings for violence, language and sexual situations. Events take a sin'dorei far from home and not into friendly hands.
1. Chapter 1

"But I don't want to."

"Last time, Sassi, I promise," Lathan urged. Tugging his sister by the arm, he peered round the corner to check the guardian was still heading away from them. "One more and I'll have enough."

"You've already had enough."

Lathan ground his teeth. She didn't understand. No one understood. 'Meditate', they said. 'Control the addiction'. As if it was that easy. With the hours he had to work to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies, there was hardly time to sleep let alone meditate. And as for those felcrystals, well, Lathan wasn't stupid. He knew the corruption in them and had no intention of using them more than he absolutely had to while there was still a choice.

Even if that choice did involve stealing.

"Now," he snarled under his breath and pushed Sassi out of their hiding place. Despite the lack of warning, she shrank into the shadows, her small size and delicate build perfect for her role in the task ahead.

His was more overt. Drawing himself to his full height, he straightened his borrowed robes, and strode towards the shop, projecting an aura of utter hauteur. His progress wasn't all he may have wanted – the residents of Silvermoon weren't known for giving way gracefully – but he felt his arrival was impressive enough. As, apparently, did the storekeeper.

"Greetings, good sir," he called out as Lathan entered, and his bow was low enough that the tails of his elegantly coifed hair touched the floor.

Lathan, affecting the haughty air of a noble, stuck his nose in the air and said, "I wish to see the best of your collection. This moment. No time to waste now!"

The storekeeper was grovelling before Lathan had finished speaking. "It was will be as you command, your lordship. Only the absolute best." He clapped his hands and suddenly the room was swarming with attendants, all eager to see to Lathan's comfort.

"A seat, sir." The cushions rose round him like the softest clouds.

"Special reserve, your lordship?" A heady scent filled his nose and he swayed towards it, captured by the bottle's magical promise.

But then there was more: trays of arcane artefacts, each more powerful than the last, exquisite boxes that bloomed like flowers to reveal the treasures within, jewels, baubles, toys, the very best that Silvermoon had to offer.

And like a starving man suddenly presented with a gourmet feast, Lathan floundered. At the very moment when every eye in the place was on him, his mask vanished to reveal him as the two fixes from Wretched fool that he really was.

The storekeeper drew in a sharp breath, immediately on the alert, and it was then that Lathan heard it, out the front where the cheap trinkets were displayed, the distinctive sound of a drawer being opened. Sassi.

"Thief!" the storekeeper shrilled, pointing directly at the source of the noise. "Outside! Thief!"

Every attendant in the place boiled out of the door, their voices rising to join the storekeeper's. Lathan stared after them, too befuddled by the presence of so much magic and by how quickly everything had gone to hell that for the longest time he couldn't move at all. It was only the sound of his sister's voice that finally broke through the trance.

"Lathan! Lathan, help me!"

Heart in his mouth, he scrambled for the door and oh, by the Sunwell, they had her. Held fast by her arms, she dangled between two of the burlier attendants, and her face… He may never forget the expression of utter terror on her face.

Reaching out for anything that might help, Lathan found himself awash with power. Grabbing it to himself, he channelled it instinctively, half-forgotten spells spilling forth from his lips as fast as he could cast them. Fire and ice rained from the sky, bolts of arcane energy shot from his fingers and the very ground itself began to burn.

"Run!" he bellowed as the men holding Sassi yelped and dropped her.

She did, as fleet of foot as a swiftest of stags, but the alarm had been raised and escape was nowhere to be had. Horrified, Lathan watched as guards closed in from all sides. Sassi darted between them desperate for any route out, only to find it blocked by a crimson clad guardian. She hunkered down for the briefest moment and then leapt, so high and so far that it seemed that she must go free. But no, the guardian rose with her, his shield braced to swipe her from the sky. Spotting the danger, Sassi kicked out, her foot catching the shield and slamming it into the guardian's chin, snapping his head back with a crack. He slumped to the ground and even at a distance, Lathan could see he was dead.

It was what he'd needed to get him moving. Yelling his sister's name so loud his throat burned, Lathan sprinted towards them, but too late. Too late. The arcane guardian came from nowhere, its huge claw swooping in and catching Sassi up like a child would a kitten. It swung her high, its eyes glowing, and Lathan heard its voice, monotone and as uncompromising as its movements, "Violent resistance is prohibited. Termination mandatory."

The creature's armour blazed and Sassi screamed, her slight body arching as uncontrolled power flooded through her, arcing from her twitching limbs and sending showers of sparks to the ground. The terrible scent of burning flesh filled the air and Lathan stumbled, bile rising in his throat as he saw his baby sister falling lifeless to the ground. Still he staggered on, dropping only when he reached her, scrambling the last few inches, hands trembling as he rolled her over, knowing but still unable to comprehend.

"Sassi." It came out as a sob, a gasp. She was dead. And he had killed her. "No. No. No!" And then she was in his arms held so tightly and he was rocking, her name a mindless recitation, a meaningless vibration of sound in his ears, because the only thing in his world was her body, warm, soft, but oh so still. So deathly deathly still.

"Stand, citizen!" It took several repetitions and a sharp jab between the shoulder blades to drag Lathan from his reverie. Blinking up through wet eyes, he saw several guardians gathered round, though only one had his full attention on them. The others were busy talking to the storekeeper and his attendants, and a few other people who Lathan guessed were probably passing witnesses.

Of the arcane guardian there was no sign.

"On your feet."

Lathan looked from the guardian to Sassi's body and back again, trying to get his head around how he was going to stand up and still keep holding her. Because he couldn't let her go. Couldn't let her lie on the cold ground.

"I said on your feet!"

This time he had no choice. Grabbed under his arm and hauled to his feet, Lathan fumbled for Sassi's body and missed. She slid against his shins and flopped to the ground.

"Name, citizen?"

"Lathaniol Summersong." The answer came from somewhere. Lathan supposed it was himself talking, though his voice sounded alien and like it was coming from a vast distance away.

"And this?" A foot nudged Sassi's body and something vile rose in Lathan's chest.

"Sasteria Summersong."

"Relative?" The foot kept prodding, moving up her body until it reached her small breast and there it lingered, stroking obscenely. Forward and back. Again and again.

Lathan broke. "Get away from her, you bastard!" Power shot from his fingertips, smacking the Guardian in the face and bowling him back off his feet. Lathan followed, intent on using fists when magic failed. Again the scent of burning flesh rose, but this time Lathan didn't care. This time it was him causing it and he was glad, glad that the bastard was screaming, glad that he was hurting, because he shouldn't have been touching her. "Shouldn't have touched her! Shouldn't have- shouldn't have!"

Something snatched him up by the back of the neck and swung him up off the ground. Lathan arched his back, magic coursing through him, his entire body bellowing out his fury at being dragged from his prey. Heat surged from the great metal hand holding him and he knew this was it. This was the moment. He was going to die.

Then a voice rang out across the courtyard. "Recompense! I demand recompense!"

The heat died as quickly as it had grown and Lathan found himself on the ground once more. This time, though, the guardians were taking no chances. Forced to his knees with his head bowed and his arms held tight behind him, Lathan could no more have cast a spell than he could have flown away.

Again the voice spoke and this time Lathan recognised the storekeeper. "I demand recompense for my damages."

"A proper accounting will be made, citizen."

"As it should. Priceless artefacts ruined. Several drained." The storekeeper's voice slid up an octave. "And not replaceable, I tell you. Not in this day and age."

"He'll be made to pay."

"What with? Look at it." A hand in Lathan's hair forced his head back. He blinked into the glaring sun. "Does that look like it has gold?"

"**That** is an excellent point." This time it was a sword hilt pushed into his cheek, turning him towards the guardian – no, this wasn't a guardian. No armour here, but robes in purples and golds, the colours of the magisters. And above them, the cultured haughtiness of a noble. "Well, do you, boy? We can't have the good citizen losing money, after all."

Lathan swallowed and closed his eyes. Every coin he possessed hung in the purse at his waist, and it amounted to barely enough to feed himself and Sassi for two days. He shook his head. He didn't have the gold to pay for the magical objects. That's why they'd been stealing in the first place.

The magister sighed. "Then it's the auction block. Though I doubt a scrawny thing like you'll raise enough to keep Storekeeper Vassen happy."

"He would in Orgrimmar." A vindictive chortle rose from the storekeeper. "I've heard tell that they pay well there for the blond ones."

"And who will foot the bill for transport?"

Lathan's purse was tugged from his belt and the laughter came again, this time with a hint of smug self-satisfaction. "How perfect. There's just enough. He can pay for himself."


	2. Chapter 2

"Grok'sha! Nal! Nal!"

The tip of the orc's whip cracked inches from Lathan's face and he flinched, despite it being meant for the milling swine not him. People and stock crammed the zeppelin's flightdeck as those trying to disembark collided with those coming aboard. Bodies squeezed together, coarse voices rising high, the heat and stench so alien and terrifying that they penetrated the haze in Lathan's mind.

He remembered the cell in Silvermoon and the magister coming for him. He remembered the agony as every last scrap of stolen magic was drained away, but after that everything was a blank until he woke up chained to this balustrade. That had been several hours ago.

Lathan wrapped his hands around his manacles, pressed his face to his shoulder and did his best to ignore the crowds. His body shook, wracked with the pain of magic withdrawal, his skin felt tight and stretched. And he wished as hard as he could to be dead.

_Death would be too easy for filth like you_, his conscience whispered darkly. _You deserve more. So much more._

He sniffed and rubbed his face on his shirt. It was true. Sassi was dead and it was his fault. He deserved to pay for that.

"You've something for me?"

The words were spoken in Thalassian. Momentarily heartened, Lathan peered round the railing and was just able to spot a brightly clad female sin'dorei speaking with the zeppelin captain. Was she there for him? He'd expected goblins, or worse, the bestial orcs, but one of his own people? Perhaps things would not go so badly for him after all.

_They should! Nothing you suffer could possibly compare to what you did to her!_

Lathan closed his eyes, trying to banish the whispers in his head.

"This? This is what he sends me? What am I supposed to do with this?" The screech blared out above him. Lathan glanced up and then really wished he hadn't bothered. So much for things not going so badly. The female's face was flushed the same colour as her scarlet robes, the finger she jabbed towards him trembling with fury. He cowered away from her anger, only to have her grab him by the hair and yank his head back. "Look at it! It's half-Wretched already."

"Eh, I don't know nothing about that. Just delivering 'im. Condition as is. But off the ship now, else there'll be more to pay."

"Of course there will." She looked tempted to throw him over the side rather than collect him officially. Not at all certain that he'd survive a fall of that distance, Lathan tried smiling at her. She grimaced. "Kael's balls, don't do that. You look vile enough anyway."

At her gesture a vast form appeared behind her and rumbled, "Yes, mistress."

Lathan blinked up at it, not sure what it could be. Too pale to be an orc, but far too large to be human, the mountain of flesh had a horn in the centre of its forehead and exuded a brutish strength. When it reached for him with one massive paw, Lathan squirmed away, but it ignored him, focussing instead on the chains that held him bound to the ship. With a single jerk, it separated the links and hauled upward, dragging Lathan to his feet, and then strode off after its mistress with Lathan in tow. He stumbled after, legs half-asleep and body aching from thirst, hunger and withdrawal.

The walk seemed to go on forever, though truly it could not have been more than a few hundred yards. But it was too far for Lathan. After tripping over one too many rocks, his legs finally gave out and he collapsed to his knees, ending up being dragged for a few feet before the great brute noticed anything amiss.

"Mistress."

"What now? Oh for pity's sake." Sighing gustily, the female leaned down over him. Lathan stared back at her. The sky behind her was bright blue, the same colour his mother's eyes had been… before.

Before, when Papa was alive and Sassi was alive and home was the rooms above the shop and his days were spent at his lessons or fishing with his friends. But then the Scourge had come and everything had been destroyed. Mother and Papa and…

A vast pain seized in Lathan's chest, bile rose in his throat and he lurched sideways, vomiting into the dusty red soil. But that was the last of his control. His body was shaking so hard, his teeth rattled in his head, and he felt like he was burning up, his body contorting and twisting.

"Hold him!"

And then, oh by the light! The blessed touch of magic coursing through him, bathing every cell of him and pushing back the agony. He gasped, gulping down air as his body absorbed the magic, demanding more even as it revelled in what it had.

"More!" he gasped out, but the power shut off like a tap. Lathan whimpered as the female's hand left his chest, already craving more. But, as his mind cleared and the pain slowly stopped, he knew he would survive. At least until the withdrawal became too much again.

"Get him on his feet."

It took a couple of tries, but eventually Lathan was standing upright, if swaying slightly and supported by a hand twisted in the back of his shirt.

"Cousin or no, I'll stake Vassen out in the sun for this," the female hissed. Lathan squinted at her. She was looking a little pale herself. Had he really taken that much? "And as for you," she added, poking him hard in the chest, "That reserve of yours just went up by another five gold."

The gates of Orgrimmar loomed ahead. Crowds surged around them, races of every kind pushing and shoving to get into the city. Towed behind the brute, Lathan did his best to keep up and look around at the same time. Back in the old days, before the Scourge, humans had been a not uncommon sight in the streets of Silvermoon. He even remembered seeing dwarves and, on one memorable occasion, a tiny gnome spellcaster. These days many new allies visited, but this was different. In Silvermoon the sin'dorei were always in command, the other races always inferior. Here, in these parched dusty alleyways, he was in the minority.

Hulking orcs haggled with massive tauren bulls whose shoulders were wider than Lathan was tall, and around the open fires huge trolls laughed and danced and drank. Between them slipped smaller forms: the Forsaken, each a hideous memory of the horrors from his past, and a few, so very few, butterfly-bright sin'dorei.

Even the architecture was wrong. No elegant gilded towers here, but wood and hide and looming stone edifices with doorways that could fit two sin'dorei atop each other.

For the first time in his life, Lathan felt truly small.

They stopped finally, and above the general hubbub around them Lathan heard a voice call out, "Excellent, Blot, you're back. And Mistress Valessen, always a pleasure. Do you have a deal for me today?"

"Sadly, Kaggol, I think it unlikely."

Hauled to the fore, he found himself face to face with a goblin sporting an eye-patch, who regarded Lathan in much the same way Lathan would have looked at a slightly mouldy piece of fish.

"My cousin has the ridiculous notion that he'll raise more in Orgrimmar than Silvermoon. I told him not to count on it. The market's flooded with useless bodies at the moment."

"Indeed it is. Indeed it is." Kaggol hopped up on a box. "Bring him here then, Blot, there's a good fellow."

"O-kay."

The brute – which apparently answered to the name of Blot – towed Lathan forward until he stood within the goblin's reach. The goblin glared at him. "Well," he said after a moment, "Open up."

"Pardon?"

"Your mouth." Kaggol rolled his eyes, grabbed Lathan's nose and chin and shoved a sharp thumb into his mouth to open it. "Not very bright is he? Any hidden talents." As he spoke he turned Lathan's head this way and that. "Tongue out." It was a little like visiting a doctor. "Healthy enough, I suppose, though that's not such a novelty these days." Mouth released, Lathan snapped it shut, then opened it again to yelp when the goblin grabbed him between the legs. "Still whole. That'll drop the price. There's some who'll pay a pretty penny for a cut elf, even one as ugly as this."

Cut? Whole? Lathan's head spun. Somehow the entire business of being sold had escaped him until now. Perhaps it had been the withdrawal or the horror of Sassi's death, but now it hit with all the power of a club to the back of the head.

For a second, he froze, then all the fear spilled out. "Get off me!" he wailed, squirming and, in the process, accidentally slamming his elbow into Blot's belly. Taken by surprise, the brute lost his grip on the chain. Lathan didn't need a second chance; heart in his mouth, he darted into the crowd, dodging right and left, squeezing through gaps that were hardly there. Behind him someone yelled out; he ignored them, kept his head down and pushed forward. He might not have a clue where he was going, but anywhere had to be better than back there.

An alleyway appeared ahead. Lathan dodged down it, taking a second to look before heading into the shadows. One thing he knew for certain; he couldn't keep running, not with Valessan and Blot on his heels. He had to hide.

Although he was nowhere near as proficient at disappearing as Sassi, she had taught him a few tricks during their years of childhood games. A few yards more and there! A doorway. Exactly what he'd been looking for, out of the way and deserted. He pressed close and tight, hugging the darkness where two walls met, where the shadow was deepest, and willed himself to vanish.

"Down there, mistress. Blot saw him. Saw him come this way, mistress."

"Blot better had seen him or Blot'll find himself on the auction block."

"Blot sorry, mistress. Blot didn't mean to let the bad elf go."

A snort of utter disdain followed. "Down here?"

"Yes, mistress."

Lathan froze, watching as they passed almost close enough to touch, not daring to so much as breath until they turned the corner and disappeared. For a long moment, he remained motionless, certain that they'd be back, then he sagged against the wall, knees shaking and teeth chattering from fear. That had been far to close.

But he couldn't stay where he was. Sooner or later they would be back, and surely his luck wouldn't hold up twice. Gathering the chains between his hands to keep them quiet and also, hopefully, make them less noticeable, he turned back towards the sunlit street - only to measure his length over the horribly familiar goblin who was standing directly behind him.

"Going somewhere?" Kaggol smirked, then clubbed him upside the head.


	3. Chapter 3

"I can't believe we walked right past him. Maybe he's related to one of those primitive kaldorei."

"Unlikely, mistress. More likely he's just a sneak thief."

Voices faded and swelled, their meanings lost and then found again as Lathan slowly surfaced. Nausea churned in his gut and his head throbbed.

"Well, either way he's never going to raise the reserve that Vassen put on him."

Valessan and Kaggol, Lathan recognised their voices. So much for his escape attempt.

"No more than fifty, mistress, and that being optimistic with the markets in their current state. And with my retrieval fee to add."

"Well thanks, it's not like I was losing enough on the deal already. Argh! Who would've thought one small ugly elf would be so much trouble."

"Pity he's not younger. There's places down the Drag'll pay good money for younglings."

Like the vultures that'd descended on Eversong after the war with handfuls of sweets and empty promises. Lathan shuddered; he'd been too old even then but Sassi had drawn more than a few interested eyes.

"At this point I'd offer him up on the street myself if it made a few silvers – Oh, put them over there, Blot. And wake him up."

Still only half conscious, Lathan suspected nothing until he was yanked from the ground and tossed into freezing water. He thrashed, panicking, not able to breathe, but to no effect. He couldn't move, couldn't surface. His hands found flesh clamped to his shirt and he shoved at it with all his might, knowing this was what was holding him under. It might as well have been stone for all the impression he made, and just as his lungs failed him, just as he tried to take that last watery breath, he was hauled skyward, choking and heaving into the air. And to the sound of Valessan and Kaggol laughing uproariously.

He had time to drag in one desperate breath before he was plunged under again. This time he kicked out, catching Blot – it had to be Blot holding him – and feeling the beast flinch before his legs were grabbed and pulled together in one meaty paw. Held at neck and knees, immobilised with no chance of escape, the fight went out of him. Opening his eyes, he stared up through the water, just able to make out Blot's huge figure against the cloudless blue of the sky, and for what felt like the hundredth time in the past few days, he waited to die.

In a strange way, he was almost glad. It would be a relief to be able to stop fighting. Sometimes it felt like that was all he'd been doing his entire life. Fighting to survive the Scourge and then the terrible withdrawal after the Sunwell was destroyed. And later, fighting to keep food on the table and Sassi out of the hands of those with an unhealthy interest in her.

But you failed, didn't you. Failed her and let her die, and now you want to escape like the coward you are. Death is too good for you.

No! Surely, surely he had suffered enough?

Apparently not. At the last moment, as his life was starting to fade, Lathan was dragged from the water and this time dumped on the ground.

"'Gain, mistress?"

"No, Blot, I think he's learnt his lesson. And point him the other way, for goodness sake!"

Water streamed from Lathan's mouth and nose as he coughed and spewed, spitting up what he could and swallowing more. Despite the hot sun, he was shivering, his shirt and pants clinging cold and wet to his body. Finally, when it seemed like there was nothing left to come up, he swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and shoved feebly at the strings of hair plastered to his face.

Not that he was given long to recover.

"Now he looks like a drowned rat instead of just a rat. Honestly, Kaggol, I am at my wit's end as to what to do with him."

"The dark iron's might pay a bit. Get through bodies they do and always in the market for more. Could ask around. For a fee, o'course."

"Of course. Do what you can then." Lathan heard the rustle of Valessan's robes as she moved. "I'll leave him here with you. Blot, do put those on properly before he decides to run again."

Before Lathan could react, Blot grabbed his feet, tugging hard enough to send Lathan sprawling. He kicked out, but Blot had the drop on him, snapping shackles, like the ones already on his wrists, round first one and then the other ankle. Then he hitched the chain between them to the one between Lathan's hands. Finally he picked up a metal collar and waved it in Lathan's face. "No run with collar on."

"No run at all, if he knows what's good for him," Kaggol added. "I'll not be so careful with me club next time." He gestured to a nearby collection of wagons and boxes with straw between them. "Hitch him to the wheel, Blot, and dig out a scrap of bread and cheese since the mistress'll be paying."

"O-kay, boss."

"Right, there's ledgers and accounts to be seen to, so I'll see you in the morning. A fresh day ripe for fresh profit." Kaggol chortled, rubbing his hands together as he strutted off.

Lathan closed his eyes as the collar clicked shut around his neck. Though much quieter than a cell door, the sound felt infinitely more final.

*

Over the next two days Lathan discovered something very important about Orgrimmar - daytime temperatures meant nothing. As a child, he'd slept out under the stars with only a blanket between himself and the elements, and thus hadn't been terribly worried at the prospect of doing so again. Unfortunately nights in eternally autumnal Eversong were distinctly balmy when compared to Orgrimmar. How a city, which spent its daylight hours baking under an unrelenting sun, could become such a freezing hellhole at night was impossible for Lathan to comprehend.

Shivering under a pile of straw – the closest he'd come to a blanket since neither Blot nor Kaggol seemed to think he needed one – Lathan wished he had more control over his meagre supply of magic. He could warm himself up, maybe. Cast a small light, or do something to make the bread he clutched in his hand, edible. The remains of the half loaf he'd been given was stale enough to mistake for a rock but he forced it down anyway since he'd been left in no doubt that this was all he was getting. Apparently Kaggol was having no luck shifting his 'unwanted merchandise' and had decided to forego any further expense, like proper food.

A dry crumb caught in Lathan's throat. He coughed, curling an arm protectively round his ribs at the movement. That was the other thing. What had started as a dull ache in his chest the first night was ramping up and now even breathing normally was becoming a problem. The shivers came and went, and sweat prickled his brow and wet the back of his shirt. The cough started up again and this time didn't stop. Pressure built in his head until it felt as though the top would explode and still he kept coughing. Not able to breathe, he rolled onto hands and knees, head hanging and one fist thumping on the ground in frustration as he fought to inhale. When it came, it came with a whoop of air rushing in, making him see stars, and cough again and again. The cycle continued, choke then gasp, choke then gasp, but slowing, calming, until he almost had a handle on it.

***Smack*** between his shoulder blades.

He hit the dust nose-first to the sound of Blot yelling, "Blot fix! Unstick lump!"

"Argh! Stop hitting me you great idiot," he gasped. "I'm sick, not choking on something." There he'd admitted it. He was sick, for the first time in his life in a way that didn't involve magic, and he was terrified. The only sick people he remembered were those who got the Scourge plague. Though this was probably more due to being half-drowned than any plot by the Lich King.

"Sick?" A huge face with squinty eyes and bulbous nose appeared in Lathan's field of vision. "Why elf sick?"

"Because elf got held under that hell-fired water until he nearly drowned, you imbecile." If he could have, he would have shouted. As it was, the chastisement came out as a croaked half-whisper.

"Blot's fault elf sick?"

He looked kind of sad, but Lathan wasn't in the mood to mollycoddle. "Yes, it's Blot's fault and Blot'd better do something about it before elf dies and Kaggol puts Blot up for auction instead." Blot looked stricken and vanished quickly enough to make Lathan's throbbing head spin. He rolled over, tugged his chains free and rested an arm over his closed eyes, willing the world to stop spinning. It was so unfair. All of it was so unfair.

No, it's not. You deserve all of this. Your greed, your inability to manage your addiction was what killed her. Anything that happens to you is true and just punishment.

He might have passed out, he might have actually slept, but whichever it was, it felt like only moments later that he heard Blot saying, "Here. Here. This way. Hurry."

"I's hurryin', mon. Keep yoh hair on. Heh, not that you's got any."

Lathan cracked his eyes open and peered into the darkness. It'd sounded like a troll, but he couldn't see one. Then light flared. He blinked, and immediately flinched away from the face pushing into his - yellow cat-slitted eyes, garishly tattooed and glittering with malice, mossy skin and a smirk framed by huge curling tusks.

'Forest troll!' Lathan's brain blared as it leaned closer and sniffed at his neck. Ancient enemies of the sin'dorei.

"It got de coughing sickness," the troll said, pretty redundantly as far as Lathan was concerned. Even an idiot could tell that.

About to point this out, he took a breath and that was all it took to start him off again. As the spasms shook him, Lathan rolled onto his side holding his ribs and pushing his face into the dirt, not wanting them to see the tears that filled his eyes.

Thankfully, the worst of it soon passed, leaving him wrung out and shaking. He shuddered as something hard and bony brushed against his cheek. The troll's stave, topped by a skeletal hand clasping a sickly yellow crystal. Something flickered deep inside it, something that seemed familiar, that tugged on Lathan's mind. He peered closer trying to see. It was… it was… something wonderful, something terrible… something…

The world dropped away leaving him floating, at peace for the first time in so many many days. Cushioned in warmth, he drifted, oblivious to everything until a stab of pain like he'd never felt before shafted into his chest.

He screamed, trying to arch away from it only to find hands holding him down. Gurgling in agony, he stared at the bone handle sticking out of his body, momentarily unable to grasp what he was seeing.

He'd been stabbed. The troll had stabbed him. That damnable beast had bewitched him and then stabbed him in the chest! Fingers dancing near the haft, he gazed up at the troll's face.

"Like me toy, do ya?" the troll chortled, flicking Lathan's hand away and wriggling the knife free with a revolting sucking sound.

Somewhere in the background, Blot was panicking, yelling something about fixing the elf not killing it. Lathan couldn't agree more.

The troll had other ideas. "Eh, stop yo frettin', woman," it said. "I 'ad to make a hole to let da bad stuff out." It winked at Lathan and ran its tongue up the bloody blade.

Lathan took one look and retched, partly from revulsion and partly from pain. The troll didn't stop him from moving. In fact it helped him roll over and while he was turned, grabbed his shirt and tore it up the seam. Lathan tried grabbing at the parts to pull them back together, but with a hole in his chest, his arm wouldn't move properly.

"Please," he gasped and heard the troll laugh again. Then something cool and soft brushed across his ribs, something cool and soft and wet, which closed over the hole and began to suckle. The troll's mouth, he realised, skin crawling at the touch. It was sucking his blood, like those vampiric bats in Ghostlands. And it hurt. By the desecrated and decimated Sunwell, it hurt so very much.

Panting in agony, Lathan squirmed, unable to get away from either the troll or the sensation. But slowly, somehow, the revolting drawing feeling began to outweigh the pain and through them both, Lathan felt tendrils of healing power tracing over and through him. The troll was a healer. Of course the troll was a healer, why else would Blot have brought him when Lathan was sick? And what did Lathan know about the way trolls healed each other anyway. Maybe sticking in knives and sucking blood were all part of how they did things. And maybe he'd misjudged and wrongly accused and maybe he hadn't seen malice in the troll's eyes or heard it in his laugh.

And maybe, just maybe, he wasn't going to die.


	4. Chapter 4

The following morning found Lathan feeling passably fit and well-rested considering he'd spent half the night unconscious. Yes, he was still chained to a wagon in the centre of Orgrimmar, still the subject of whispered comments and small children throwing stones, but that was head and shoulders better than the day before, when all he'd been able to do was hide and hope that death came for him sooner rather than later.

He'd even got breakfast. Perhaps it was guilt, but whatever caused it, Lathan wasn't going to complain when Blot turned up with fresh bread and a hunk of meat still warm from the fire and dripping bloody grease everywhere. Obviously Lathan would have preferred pastries or fruit, but he'd learned over the years that no food was too revolting to pass up when you were hungry enough.

Licking his fingers to get the last smears of flavour, he stared around the marketplace, noting that he was now far from being the only slave. A nearby wagon had an old human, stooped and grey, and a pair of dwarfs, chained to it, a goblin hovering watchfully over them all.

As he sat, a female orc went over to them, hauling them up to their feet and examining them in the same way Kaggol had examined Lathan that first time. The human she discarded immediately, as with one of the dwarfs. The other she took more time over, finally calling out for a price. Whatever the goblin asked must have been acceptable as the orc nodded and dug in her money purse before taking her purchase away with her and continuing along the rows. The dwarf followed, head down and not looking back.

Would that be what happened to him, Lathan wondered? Passed over to some orc for who knew what? Though perhaps that would be better than the alternative. He had no great desire to be stuck up on the auction block, after all. Maybe the female needed another slave? Maybe he should draw attention to himself somehow?

He sat up straight as she came closer, tempted to smile but remembering at the last moment what Valessan had said about how it made him look. She paused, glancing briefly at him before yelling, "Kaggol, you one-eyed thief, where are you?"

"Gertan! My love, my life, how can I help you today?" Kaggol emerged from behind the wagon.

"I'm after humans. Got anything?"

"Not a one. Only the elf, though he'd pass for human if you cut his ears off."

Lathan's hands flew to his ears. They wouldn't, would they? Oh, who was he kidding, of course they would if they thought there was money to be made from it.

Thankfully the orc was shaking her head. "Got to be real human this time. The scribe won't settle for anything else. Says the proper binding complements his work, or some such rubbish."

"Ah, ah, the customer is always right, Gertan."

"Too true. Especially when he's paying as much gold as this fool." She peered more closely at Lathan. "I might be back later. Take this off your hands if you can't shift it. Price?"

"Seventy."

The orc roared with laughter, swatting Kaggol with enough force to make him stagger. "Seventy! You'll be lucky to get thirty from the arena." She sobered, looking calculating. "I'll give you forty five."

"Sixty and I won't go lower. Elves don't grow on trees, Gertan, and you know it."

"Hmm." She shook her head. "No, too rich for me. Orders for elf-skin are few and far between."

"But you could sell off the rest. There's no waste on an elf."

Lathan listened with increasing horror as they discussed rendering him down for parts. Hair, bones, skin, organs, even flesh parcelled up and sold as delicacies to a troll eatery the orc knew of. Thankfully, even Kaggol had to agree that the total raised still wouldn't match the initial outlay plus expenses incurred, and so the orc moved on.

"Damn it," Kaggol muttered when she was out of earshot. "That's another potential customer gone." He turned, aiming a desultory kick in Lathan's direction. "At this rate it'll be the arenas for you and a loss for me."

"Arenas?" Lathan asked, before thinking.

The goblin blinked at him. "Arenas. Target practice. You think gladiators learn by killing each other? Pah!" He waved a hand. "They cost far too much to replace. Better to use cheaper meat." Still muttering, Kaggol disappeared back behind the wagon.

Lathan stared after him. Target practice? Or parts? That was all he had to look forward to? He'd be better off hanging himself from the nearest tree, if he could only get close enough to one. Damn it, he would have been better off if that healer had never been called.

It was later that day that another option presented itself. Lathan had been hiding from the worst of the heat under the wagon when a female voice called out, "I've had an idea. Kaggol? Did you hear me? I've had an idea for our rat!"

"Back here, mistress Valessan."

Lathan poked his head out and, seeing who it was, wriggled his way to the other side to best eavesdrop on the ensuing conversation.

"There you are." She flopped down on the only chair and waved a hand in front of her face. "Tell me you have something to drink. I swear, no matter how long I'm in this city, the heat becomes no easier."

Kaggol gave a dutiful laugh, grudgingly produced a bottle and poured two small measures. "I'm sure, mistress. Now what was your idea? Something to raise gold? The feed bill keeps on going up, you know."

"Oh, I know only too well. Listen." She sat forward. "The Venture Company are hiring."

"And? So?"

"And! So! We hire him out! They're paying seventy silvers a day for grunt-work. If he's costing ten to feed then that's…" she paused, frowning.

"Ninety days labour. Make it a round one hundred and there's a profit to split. Did they say how long they were hiring for?"

"No, but the Foreman was talking about opening a new operation near Sludge Fen so surely it would have to be for a few months at least."

"Hm. Mistress Valessan, you might just have saved our purses. Well done." Kaggol clapped his hands, his eyes fair glowing with excitement. "And we'll hire Blot on as well! He can add a bit more to the coffers and keep a watching brief on the elf at the same time."

"Perfect. I couldn't have suggested better myself."

"Now, obviously I can't speak to them, not and keep my privileges with the Cartel, so can I leave the negotiations up to you?"

"For the both of them? Kaggol, my dear, for you I'll even lower my fee."


	5. Chapter 5

His first day was almost enough to make Lathan wish he had been bought for parts.

Though technically none of the workers, except him, were slaves, that didn't seem to make a difference to the overseers, who wielded their whips with enough enthusiasm to have Lathan ducking instinctively every time one of them walked past. The other drudges ignored them and it took a good few hours before Lathan realised that, despite the whistle and crack, the whips rarely, if ever, made contact. It was about power, he concluded. Reinforcing who was in charge and showing who was boss. In Silvermoon, the aristocracy made the point with exquisite fabrics and lavish embroidery. Here in Sludge Fen, they did it with whips.

Still by the time night fell, he was more than ready to collapse in a heap of righteous exhaustion. Who knew that digging could be such hard work.

"My hands," he groaned, holding them cupped in front of him the better to examine red blistered skin.

"No work means no pay, so you'd best be fit by tomorrow," a goblin said busily, poking around in a large leather carryall. "The Venture Company has no time for slackers."

"Show me," said Untarg, one of the orc workers.

Lathan held his hands out. The orc tipped them sideways to the fire and pursed his lips. "Zug zug," he muttered quietly, then, "Soft skin, like a 'uman. Mok, Adam!"

"Yeh?" It was a human that replied. The Venture Company employed all races, alliance and horde, they didn't seem to care so long as each worked hard and cost little.

"You do anything for 'im?"

The human wandered over and squinted down at Lathan's hands. "Sure," he said, after a moment. "But it'll cost ya."

"Oh." Lathan felt the colour rush up his face. "I'm sorry, I don't have any money." He was pretty sure they all knew he was a slave. None of them were wearing shackles or had an ogre guarding them.

"Never said with money." The human reached out and rested his fingertips against Lathan's lips. "Half an hour in the bushes and I'll fix yer hands up right and proper."

"Oh," Lathan said again, suddenly aware that the entire work-gang was staring at him. "I – um."

Adam shrugged, half-turning away. "Up to you. But they ain't gonna feel no better tomorrow."

Lathan knew that. He also knew that if he did what Adam wanted, then he'd end up doing it again. And again. As employees rather than slaves, the other drudges had brought supplies with them. Even the poorest had sleeping rolls and tough clothing. Not so Lathan, who had nothing but a single thin blanket and the ripped shirt and pants he was wearing. They were not going to last for long and without money he had no way of getting more. Unless he sold his body. Which begged the question, was he prepared to do it?

He never had before. Even in Silvermoon, when the worst of the addiction bit. But then he'd had other things to fall back on. Odd-jobs, cheating, stealing. Now, here, he had nothing but his body and little choice but to sell what he had.

"I'll, um, I'll do it," he said, having to clear his throat halfway through, and stood up. The human swung round with a broad grin and slung an arm round Lathan's shoulders. It was odd, being half a head taller and yet still so powerless. Somehow, Lathan thought, the physical inequality should have counted for more.

"Blot go too," the ogre said, lumbering to his feet.

"I don't think so," Adam said. "I'll keep an eye on him. Promise."

Blot's brow furrowed as he thought about it. "O-kay," he said finally. "But no break elf."

The human laughed. "Got it. No break elf. Coming with, Untarg?"

Lathan balked; he'd agreed to one, not two; but the arm around him was uncompromising. The orc glanced up, looked between them and shook his head. "Sleeping now," he said. "Next time, maybe."

"Spoilsport." With a smarmy grin, Adam rubbed his hand against the back of Lathan's head. "Guess it's just you and me then, elf."

* 

They didn't have to go far from the fire for privacy. Even on a starlit night, the darkness was profound enough that entire herd of kodo could have hidden unseen in the bushes. Lathan squinted at the ground, wondering if there were any stones ready to leap out and attack unsuspecting knees. Though, to be honest, it looked well cleared, as if the area was often used for the purpose.

"There's a coupla whores work out of the mine," Adam said, settling his ass back against a convenient rock and unbuckling his pants. "They come down a few times a month, but it ain't regular, you know, and a guy needs it regular." He sighed heartily as he shoved his pants down round his thighs, and gestured to Lathan to come over.

Lathan shuffled towards him and dropped to his knees, his mind and gut churning with nerves. It had been years since he'd done this, and then only with friends. Taking the human's soft dick in his hand, he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss to the soft skin. It twitched slightly and began to firm up. His next kiss was wetter and more open-mouthed and garnered him a small hitch of breath from above. Lathan smiled, privately; maybe he could do this, after all.

Settling back on his heels, he cracked his neck, put one hand firmly against Adam's hip and guided his rapidly hardening dick to his lips. If he remembered rightly, wetter was better, and to that end he slurped it in with as much enthusiasm and spit as he could muster.

"Fuck." Muttered and from above, accompanied by fingers in his hair. Lathan shook them off, taking the time to push them away before getting back to business. It wasn't that didn't like being held, he just didn't want it from someone he didn't know. That was about trust and that was earned. His choice.

The dick in his mouth was firming up nicely, resting solid and oddly reassuring. He worked the underside with the tip of his tongue, pulling back and pressing forward again, gauging how deep he could take it, teasing his gag reflex. Deeper than he'd' have thought, probably deeper than he should. His throat wouldn't be thanking him tomorrow. But that was then and this was now and he was starting to get into the groove. The taste flooded his mouth; bitter, salty, and familiar; he embraced it.

Muscles jumped under his fingers. Lathan twisted his hand, cupping Adam's hipbone and pressing his thumb into his groin. Not hard, but hard enough to give the illusion of power, of restraint. And speaking of, those balls brushing his chin needed some treatment. Lathan cupped them gently, rolling them back and forth, fluttering his fingers across the soft skin behind.

Some men liked that feeling and Adam was no exception. His dick leapt free of Lathan's mouth, slapping up against his belly. Lathan chuckled and chased it down, holding the base and swirling his tongue around the tip and under the foreskin. Adam was panting, his hands pressed back tight against the stone, his eyes wide open and staring blankly down at Lathan as though this was the best blowjob he'd ever had.

Lathan fluttered his eyelashes, did his best to fill his expression with heated lust and sucked him back in. Now he knew where he was heading. Sliding two fingers into his mouth alongside Adam's dick, he wet them thoroughly then pressed up behind Adam's balls, rubbing back and forth, exploring further and further until he found the rough skin around his hole. Circling it carefully, he waited for Adam to react. He got a slight thrust of the hips, which he chose to interpret as favourable, wet his fingers again, and this time homed in on his target, pressing firmly in with the tip of a finger.

Hands pressed against his head, one each side and Adam began shifting restlessly as though he needed to thrust but didn't want to impose. Releasing Adam's hip, Lathan cupped the human's ass urging him forward and worked his finger deeper. A deep groan came from above and Adam began to thrust, shallow and careful, his hands never impeding Lathan's ability to pull away. And it was good. The rhythm, the slide of dick against his lips, the musky scent of turned on male. Lathan found he was getting hard in reaction. He rocked his hips. His soft cotton pants provided virtually no friction, but it felt good. If he'd had a spare hand, he'd have jerked off. Frustrating.

Something hard pressed up against his leg. Lathan paused and glanced down. It was Adam's booted foot, rubbing the outside of his thigh. The invitation seemed pretty clear, but Lathan checked, pulling off Adam's dick with a wet pop and saying, "Are you sure?"

"Hey, you wanna hump me leg while you blow me, I ain't gonna complain," the human said, and yeah, okay, Lathan could see how that'd be a turn on. Not that he cared.

Happily straddling Adam's leg, he went back to work, sucking Adam down and finger fucking him at the same time. Only this time he could join in, working his dick along the side of Adam's leg, using it to pull the cloth tight across his groin. Fuck, it was almost enough, but he kept getting dragged out of the moment. There were too many distractions, too many things to co-ordinate. His own pleasure was getting lost in the rush.

There was only one thing for it. He released Adam's dick again, ignoring the human's whine of protest, and said, "Fuck my mouth."

"Oh, crap, yes!" Apparently Adam didn't need telling twice. He practically force fed his dick back into Lathan's mouth, shoving it deep and almost making Lathan regret his decision. "Sorry," he muttered, and then, "Fucking hell," as Lathan opened his throat and took him in all the way.

That was better. With Adam controlling his head, Lathan could ride the feeling, enjoy the burning stretch of his lips, and counterpoint it with the ache in his balls, the delicious tug of fingers in his hair and the insistent rub of fabric over the head of his dick. He was going to come. He was going to come humping a human's leg while he sucked him off. It really should be humiliating, but Lathan was past caring.

Sucking air in through his nose, he took Adam down all the way, swallowing around him, and had the satisfaction of feeling Adam shudder. A moment later Lathan was coming hard, and so was Adam, filling Lathan's mouth until some overflowed and dribbled down his chin. Maybe humans tasted better, or maybe it was the heat of the moment, but Lathan was greedy for it, swallowing eagerly and chasing down the remnants, licking his lips for the final drops and finally sitting back to rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth. His lips felt bruised and used, but good.

"Damn that's pretty. Never had an elf before."

The human was looking damned pretty himself, all heavy lidded and sated, breathing hard and with his softening dick hanging over the top of his pants. Lathan smiled. He had a feeling he was going to enjoy working for the Venture Company.

* 

As Lathan predicted, that pretty much set the pattern. By the end of the first week Lathan had a strong pair of boots and incipient mandibular arthritis. By the end of the second, their workgang was the most closely-knit and productive at the dig, Lathan was sporting a smart new leather vest and a broad-brimmed hat to keep the sun off, and was beginning to wonder if putting a cushion in the bushes for his knees gave the wrong impression.

The rhythm of the work was soothing in a mindless way. From dawn 'til dusk he laboured, sometimes digging, sometimes hauling the massive drums of sludge the pumps extracted from the fen. With Adam's help, his hands quickly hardened, his body toughened up and he grew accustomed to the sun and the work both. Food was plentiful, if simple. Evenings were spent round the fire, singing, talking and drinking. In truth, everything would have been fine, if it hadn't been for Blot.

The Venture Company practised a very simple system vis a vis equipment – you break it, you pay for it. And Blot was, for some unaccountable reason, the clumsiest creature Lathan had ever had the displeasure to run into. Not a tool was safe; all fell apart in Blot's massive hands. Likewise, he stumbled through wagons, upended barrels and, on one occasion, managed to get himself jammed in the inlet pipe of the main pump. That mess took half a day and the dedicated attention of four workgangs to sort out, and as a result, a furious Tinkerer Sniggles put Blot on notice. If he didn't clean up his act and repay everything he owed, he was fired. And that, by default, meant so was Lathan.

"I'm not going back," Lathan said. They were watching dinner cooking while Adam, who'd turned out to be a decent healer in a pinch, did his best to patch up Blot's numerous cuts and bruises. "It's all right for you, no one's going to cut you up and use you for parts."

"You know, my dad always swore troll's blood was brilliant in potions," Adam said. Coming to end of his bandage, he added, "Hold this," and waited for Blot to stick his finger in the right place. "But I've never heard anything about elves."

"Aphrodisiac," Untarg grunted. He was smirking, lips curling around his small tusks. After declining the first night, he'd become a regular. The hat now on Lathan's head had once been Untarg's.

"I'm laughing. Honestly," Lathan said. "On the inside." He poked the fire, shifting a smouldering log from one angle to another. "But seriously, I'm not going. There has to be some way I can get out of this."

"You could see if the boss would buy you?" Foggle suggested, his long green ears twitching as he spoke about his beloved Venture Company. "They buy contracts all the time. My brother got bought out only last year. A whole hundred golds they paid for his business."

"I'm not a business, Foggle, I'm a person."

"They'd never let you go either. You'd spend the rest of your life working for 'em whether you wanted to or not."

A general murmur of agreement spread round the fire at Adam's comment. Lathan silently concurred; he had no great desire to exchange one master for another, but at least the Company seemed fair. Up until you get ill or injured, he thought. And then what. He'd probably end up rendered down for glue.

"I guess you could hire out to the other gangs. Some of 'em are just waiting for a go. Especially if you'll fuck."

Lathan jerked in surprise and stared at Adam, who shrugged and had the grace to colour a little. "I'm just sayin'. It'd be one way of making some cash."

That was true, as far as it went. But, though goods were exchanged, what he did in the evenings was more about giving friends a helping hand. Or mouth. Approaching the other gangs, letting them fuck him, that would be purely a business transaction. It would make him money. But enough to make it worthwhile? Lathan pondered the question. It certainly wasn't a decision he was prepared to make lightly or quickly.

"Blot want money," the ogre muttered as Adam put the finishing touches to his bandages. "Blot pay and Blot go home." He sighed, long and heavy. "Blot miss home."

"I know you do, Blot." Lathan reached out and patted him on the arm. While not what you'd call a friend, he'd grown almost fond of the big oaf over the past weeks. The ogre was as stupid as a clod of soil, but left to his own devices he wasn't mean. He'd even taken Lathan's chains off after Lathan promised faithfully not to run away.

After dinner, and after turning Untarg down when he proposed a sojourn to the bushes, Lathan unrolled his blanket and settled in for the night. In deference to his lack of bedding, the others had allowed him to sleep closest to the fire, and though that did put him under siege from smoke and the odd floating ember, at least he didn't freeze.

That night was no exception. Sleep came quickly and Lathan soon found himself immersed in dreams. Though in truth they were more like nightmares. Sassi's death played and replayed behind his eyes, as it often did, sometimes accompanied by Lathan's own demise either at the hands of the guardians or, more recently, on the end of a knife wielded by a particularly terrifying troll.

It was the voice that woke him – quiet, but insistent, calling his name from the shadows. Frowning, he rolled over, peering into the darkness to try and make out who it was. Out by the perimeter, he could see something glowing palely in the moonlight. Blot? He glanced over at the ogre's sleeping roll. It was empty, confirming his suspicions. But what could he want? Surely Blot hadn't managed to get himself in trouble again.

Keeping the blanket around his shoulders, Lathan stood up and picked his way through the sleeping bodies towards the pale form by the rocks at the edge of the camp.

"Blot?" he called quietly, once he was far enough away not to wake everyone up. The shape by the rock didn't move. He crept closer, nerves fluttering. "Not brave," he murmured, as much to bolster his own spirits as anything. "Not the brave one. Don't let it be a ghost. Don't let him be dead."

He wasn't. But he wasn't Blot either. As Lathan drew close enough to see clearly, he realised that, what he'd mistaken for the ogre, was actually just a blanket, artfully draped to give the impression of a large body. That was just confusing. And creepy.

Nervously, he twitched the blanket aside, almost expecting to find someone hiding behind it. But there was nothing. Nothing but bushes, trees and more rocks, and the grunt of night hunting lions and the strange rustle of who knew what wildlife that haunted this part of the Barrens. Still, Lathan eased the blanket free of its anchors. If someone was going to abandon it, he wasn't going to see it go to waste.

He was halfway back to the fire when the real Blot appeared, grabbed him by the waist and slammed a huge fist into the side of his head.


	6. Chapter 6

Waking up was no pipe dream. Head pounding, Lathan groaned and pressed hands over his aching eyes. Chains at his wrists clunked against each other, and he froze. Chains? No! It'd been ages since they'd been taken off. He opened his eyes, franticly grabbing at his wrists - manacles – and neck, collared again. Feet? The same.

"Blot!" he bellowed, struggling up. It had to be the ogre. Unless it was Kaggol. Had the goblin come to get him back? Had he finally found someone willing to pay the seventy gold he wanted?

Blot appeared from the darkness, his lumbering gait as recognisable as the mumbled running commentary. "Blot need gold. Blot get gold. Blot go home."

Oh that did not sound good. Already feeling nervous, Lathan's worry ratcheted up when Blot tugged him to his feet and started off down the hill. Having no idea where they actually were, and being on the end of the chain, Lathan had little choice but to follow, but he refused to do it silently. "Damn it, Blot, it's the middle of the night! This couldn't wait? And why the chains? I told you I wouldn't run. Come on, Blot, I thought you were my friend."

He nearly got hauled off his feet for his pains. "You come! No argue!" The ogre's face was set in a scowl and, given that he'd already been knocked out once, Lathan decided that right now discretion might just be the better part of valour.

They walked for what felt like miles, though most probably wasn't. Given little choice in the matter, Lathan stumbled along behind. It was a struggle to keep up. His head was throbbing and when he prodded his face, he could feel a bruise forming that stretched from brow to chin.

A strange rushing noise rose above the other night sounds, which after a while, Lathan realised was the river – the huge one that ran alongside Orgrimmar. That gave him some clue as to where they were at least and he gained some comfort from knowing Blot wasn't leading them straight out into the wilderness.

Somewhere ahead a light glimmered through the trees and, as they grew closer, it resolved into a bonfire, not unlike the ones at the company work camp. But rather than the silence of hardworking labourers sleeping, this one boasted harsh voices raised in song and laughter.

A really bad feeling uncurled in Lathan's belly.

"Eh, Blot, where're we going?"

Another sharp tug. "Blot make money from elf."

Oh crap. "How?"

No answer. The fire was close enough now for Lathan to see orcs and trolls, their faces bestial masks in the guttering light. As they came closer, the small crowd opened up and some called out in greeting.

"Hey, ogre!"

"Wha'choo got for us, man?"

A single twist of the arm and Lathan was spun round, dangling inches off the ground by his wrists and close enough to the fire to feel the heat of it.

"A leetle elf!"

"How much you want, Blot?"

"Twenny silver a go. An' no cheating!"

Hands reached out, grabbing at bits of him he never wanted grabbed. Lathan kicked at them, the movement making him swing in Blot's grasp. "Get off me!" he yelled.

"It's a boy."

"Hey, a hole's a hole, ya. Pass 'im over."

Cackles and hoots of laughter rang out around the fire and Lathan panicked. What he'd been doing of an evening with his friends was consensual and even pleasant. What this gang wanted was something different. Something he doubted he'd survive. And he probably wouldn't go prettily or well. In fact if this lot got their way, there was a good chance he'd die a screaming and bloody mess.

He lashed out with his feet again, this time aiming for Blot and specifically the ogre's loincloth-covered crotch. The first time he missed, but the second - bullseye! Blot bellowed in pain and promptly dropped the chain. Lathan managed to land on his feet, tottered a few steps, almost toppled into the fire, and took off at a fast shuffle, fully intending to keep running forever.

Of course he was never going to be that lucky. He'd taken no more than ten steps when a massive arm grabbed him round the waist and swung him off his feet. Damn it all, this was getting annoying. It wasn't as if he was particularly small; loads of sin'dorei were shorter than he was, it was just that these other races were so stupidly huge.

"I said! Get! The Hell! Off ME!"

He hadn't intended any harm. Hadn't even attempted to cast a spell. Didn't even realise he had enough magic left in him to do it. But apparently he had and did. Pure magic exploded out of him, blasting everyone within a fifteen-yard radius. Laughter turn to howls of pain, somewhere close by someone screamed while another started chanting in a high-pitched panicked sort of a way.

Now freed from the arm that had been holding him, Lathan fled towards the black on black rocks that lined the edge of the river. Given the choice, he'd rather throw himself into its racing currents than face what was behind him.

The second attack, when it came, was magical rather than physical. One moment Lathan was shuffle-hopping along as fast as he could persuade his legs to go, and the next he was walking calmly back towards the fire with absolutely no control over his own body.

A figure loomed out of the gloom. "Elf," it whispered as he drew near. "Me feasted on your kind when the Lich King came. Hunted 'em as they ran, me did."

Even if he hadn't recognised the voice, he certainly did the stave. Glowing crystal, skeletal hand. Lathan stared at it, now realising it had five fingers, not a troll's three. And his mind conjured up images of fleeing refugees being picked off in the night and their remains used in foul rites. Or worse.

Like last time, the crystal flickered and, as he watched, grew slowly brighter until he could just make out the tiny figure of a sin'dorei female, translucent and hardly visible. Somehow she seemed to sense him and reached out to him, her mouth forming words that he hadn't a hope of understanding though he recognised them as pleas for help. He'd like to have answered her, helped her, but what could he do?

But she was beautiful and tiny and so like Sassi that he had to try. He reached towards her with his mind, wanting to touch, wanting to see. His fingers twitched.

The troll slammed his staff into the ground. The figure screamed, hands going to her head, her voice audible and terrible as flames sprang up around her writhing body. The troll grabbed Lathan's hair, hauling him towards the fire. "Remember dis. Elf make good strong mojo. You listen hard an' you listen good, else it be you in dere too."

In there? Lathan swallowed thickly. He didn't want to end up trapped in some troll's stave for all eternity.

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As they got closer, Lathan suddenly realised exactly why he'd heard yelling when he'd fled. His spell, whatever it had been, had effectively blasted the bonfire apart, driving shards of burning wood into the group gathered around it. Most injuries seemed to have been minor, a bit of singed fur here and clothing ruined there, but over the far side of the fire an orc sat stoically while another carefully dripped something over the massive burn down the right side of his body.

Lathan stared at him, revolted and yet at the same time fascinated by the damage. Half the orc's beard and hair were gone and one eye glared blackly from a sea of crimson. The burn stretched down his neck and several deep scores, each one rimmed with blackened charred flesh, pitted his chest and shoulder. It looked awful and had to hurt terribly.

Lathan felt a pang of compassion until he remembered exactly what this gang had had in mind for him.

And now he was back in their grasp.

Panic broke through the final layers of the spell holding him and Lathan balked, the chains going tight as his feet refused to move and his heart leapt into his mouth.

Of course fighting back did no more than draw unwanted attention and when the injured orc saw Lathan, he roared, lurched to his feet, and charged. Apparently unfazed, the troll stepped forward, levelling his staff and putting his body between Lathan and incoming danger. Lathan stayed where he was, feeling like twenty types of coward but not daring to do more than hide behind his captor.

After a brief scuffle, order was restored and the burned orc reluctantly returned to his seat, shrugging off several restraining arms. His friend grunted something and the snarled reply went along with a smug sneer in Lathan's direction. A smug sneer that did nothing to ease Lathan's worry as to what lay in store for him.

He was still worrying when the bindings of the mind control spell settled around his body once again, initially immobilising him and then sending him trotting compliantly after the troll, out past the bonfire and towards one of several huts sitting behind it. The troll lifted the hide curtain across the doorway and ducked inside; Lathan followed, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the strange green tinged lighting. And then at the equally strange gathering that confronted him.

A huge table dominated the room, around which sat two male orcs, a female tauren and a Forsaken. Blot stood in front of them, swaying slightly, as another orc – this one female - appeared to be draining energy from him.

The tauren flicked a finger at the troll and Lathan found himself proceeding past the table and through another door into a tiny dark room. The door closed behind him, leaving Lathan alone and unable to do anything but breath and blink.

And listen, though there was precious little to hear except drunken singing from the gang outside.

"It's done," the female orc said eventually from the other room. "The memory's gone. He's ready for new ones."

A strange sound followed; an odd crackling and something which Lathan could have sworn was whimpering; then the troll saying, "Done. All he remember is the croc eatin' the elf."

"So we can proceed?" Another female voice. Had to be the tauren.

"It's good, 'cept," a mad cackle came from the troll, "Me better be fixing the elf 'fore you takes him, ya. 'Less you wants 'im exploding on the way."

Exploding? Fixing? Lathan cringed as the door opened but, still under the troll's control, had no choice but to walk out into the room.

There was no sign of Blot. Presumably he was on his way back to the Venture Company and Kaggol with the sad tale of Lathan's demise in the jaws of a crocolisk, leaving Lathan here to face what could turn out to be his very real demise at the hands of mad men.

"I can see why you chose him, Kel'jin," the tauren said. "There's something about him…"

The troll – Kel'jin – answered, "When me saw him, me knew, ya. All the others be shiny flutters but not this one."

"He is oddly plain for an elf."

Now able to see the speakers, Lathan realised that the tauren was far older than he'd first thought. Her black fur was almost entirely grey, her face gaunt and her arms withered. She looked only one step from the grave.

And speaking of the grave, the Forsaken chimed in with, "The plainer the better, for our purposes."

"As you so rightly say, Master Vottrel, as you so rightly say."

The Forsaken was male? Lathan squinted at it. He supposed it could be. He always had difficulties seeing past the rotting flesh and protruding bones.

And what 'purposes' were they alluding to, anyway. And why him? What were they up to?

The tauren spoke again. "Will you need anything to do this?"

"Nothin' but meself and bit of magic. You just be watchin', Elder Merga, watchin' and a-learnin'."

As the troll leaned in, Lathan tried to lean away. It didn't work, of course, but he felt he won back a smidgen of self-respect by even trying. Kel'jin's hand on his forehead felt obscene. Lathan shuddered, revolted by the cool spongy texture of the mossy skin, so alien to what he was used to.

Then the pain started. Searing agony behind his eyes, like his brain was burning from the inside out, and through it he could feel his magic being stolen away. It was like the magister in Silvermoon, but oh so much worse. Finally the pain broke through the binding spell and he screamed, dropping to his knees and gagging as he tried to breathe and for the longest time utterly and completely failed.

He hardly felt the pain stop, it was more a background awareness of a lack of it. In much the same way he only half heard the voices raised in argument around him. The tauren, Merga, was saying something about damaging him and Kel'jin was… Lathan flinched. Kel'jin was arguing that he had to continue if they didn't want him escaping halfway there – wherever 'there' was. If he could have, Lathan would have promised not to try and escape, if it meant avoiding more pain like that. And if it meant avoiding the deep shakes and nausea that went along with total magic withdrawal.

"If not that, then me gotta do summat else, ya," Kel'jin said. "He gotta be controlled somehow. Channels the power somet'ing ferocious, man, and now they got that all back, he gonna be absorbin' it all the damn time. A day or two and he gonna be blowing you's all up."

"Then do something else. He's no use to us a burned out husk!" Someone was getting annoyed. Lathan cheered them on – internally and silently, of course.

"Okay then."

Lathan sensed someone bending him over him and slitted open his eyes. It was Kel'jin, smirking round his tusks again. He'd enjoyed that, the sadistic bastard. He'd known exactly how much he was hurting Lathan and he'd enjoyed every moment of it. If Lathan could have, he would have punched the troll on his long pointed nose.

"So we tryin' summat different."

The troll reached into his robe and drew out a strange figurine about the size of a child's toy that looked to be made of moss and bark and mud. He grabbed Lathan's hand and brought it to his mouth.

"Hold still," he said, as if Lathan had any choice in the matter whatsoever, and bit down hard on Lathan's fingers.

Lathan yelled. Again. Damn it all, wasn't there an option that didn't hurt? He'd gladly promise to behave if they'd just ask.

"A little voodoo." Kel'jin squeezed Lathan's fingers, letting blood drip through them onto the doll. "One drop make it good. Two drop make it better. And three drop – three drop make you all mine."

True to his words, as the third drop of blood fell onto the doll, Lathan felt the bindings around him change. It felt as though someone had adjusted their hold on him, as one did on a knife or sword. Whereas before the hold was tight but casual, not built to last, this one was solid. It was lighter, but there was no escaping it. Forget casting spells, Lathan knew that without Kel'jin's explicit consent he'd not even be casting a fishing line.

Going by the expression on Kel'jin's face, he must have let that show in his eyes. The troll cackled wildly and thrust the doll up in the air. "Me done it! Me caught 'im. No one ever done an elf before!"

Wonderful, Lathan thought as he turned away and clutched his throbbing fingers to his chest, not only was he a disgrace to his family name, now he was an embarrassment to his entire race as well.

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It turned out that 'there' was back in the eastern kingdoms. The following dawn, after Lathan had managed to snag a few hours sleep propped up against a wall, he was back on the same zeppelin that had brought him to Kalimdor. This time, thankfully, he wasn't chained to the balustrade, though passenger class wasn't altogether that much better.

Squashed between Kel'jin on one side and the Forsaken, Master Vottrel, on the other, Lathan hardly dared breathe. Which was fine for the first couple of hours, but after that it got really uncomfortable. Votrell's armour leeched every scrap heat from Lathan's body until he couldn't stop shivering – though that could have been an after effect of being drained of his magic and savaged by an undoubtedly rabid troll.

What he really fancied was a sleep in the sun and a decent meal, though he'd settle for getting off this bench and watching the goblins. It wasn't to be. Instead he sat still, or as still as he could, as clouds boiled past outside and Votrell's armour grew colder and harder and pokier.

"If you value your extremities, you will stop fidgeting!"

"Sorry." Lathan gripped his bitten fingers in his other hand, willing himself still. The trouble was, he was starting to buzz a little, like he did after a fix of magic. It was strange. There was no good reason for him to feel this way.

"Ignore 'im," Kel'jin said. "He don't understand. Not got any magic in 'im, ya."

"Do not tempt me, troll. The light may have abandoned me, but I can weave shadow as well as you."

"Hah! You is like a child playing in the sand." The troll slapped his chest. "When me walk in the shadows, the spirits know me name. They know Kel'jin!"

"And now so does everyone else, you fool!" Votrell hissed as the other passengers turned to stare. "For pity's sake keep your eye on your charge. If I have to stay here a moment longer, I shall not answer for my actions." And with that, he stood up, gathered his cloak around him and strode away.

Lathan kept his head down, staring at the floor. As much as he disliked Forsaken, he didn't want to be alone with Kel'jin either. The troll was definitely as dangerous as he claimed and had a vicious streak that Lathan did not want to experience for a third time.

Unfortunately he wasn't going to get a choice. A few minutes later, the troll started muttering something in a language Lathan didn't understand, and the bindings around him grew tighter. The jitters stopped, at least on the outside, which was a good thing, though Lathan had a feeling that whatever was coming next wouldn't be.

Kel'jin's muttering took on a more fervent edge and darkness began creeping in round the edges of Lathan's vision. Even when he closed his eyes he could still see it, writhing and twisting, almost seeming to call out to him.

"Lathaniol?" A figure resolved out of the darkness, a delicate female sin'dorei, and for a brief moment Lathan thought it was Sassi, until the figure turned and – "Mother!" And there he was with her. In their rooms over the shop. He could smell the bread in the oven, hear wind-bells tinkling on the balcony and children playing in the square below.

"Lathaniol, there you are. I've been searching for you everywhere, my son." She came towards him, smiling happily, holding out her hand. Lathan backed away. "What's wrong?"

"You're dead," he said.

"Don't be silly-"

"I saw you die! At the camp. They came and you died. The rangers saved us."

"Well," she said, "I suppose if you're sure…" Her face melted; the skin dripping away, her eyes falling from their sockets, her jaw twisting loose on one side. She took another step towards him, the movement wafting the stench of rotten flesh ahead of her. "But you should at least give your mother a goodbye kiss."

He tried to get away, tried so hard to escape, all to no avail. She captured his wrists and drew him forwards, cupping his cheek in a skeletal hand and pressed oozing lips to his. Lathan screamed, and the both the scream and the kiss went on for an eternity.

It was Sassi who rescued him. Who took his hands in her soft warm ones and led him away from the horror and back into darkness. She appeared slowly, fading into sight along with a ghostly impression of the waterfall at the centre of Eversong Woods. A good place to fish, Lathan recalled, and an excellent one to hide in when chores needed doing.

They sat a while in silence; Lathan contemplating his navel in an attempt to forget what he'd just experienced, until Sassi said, "You know that wasn't real, right?"

"Course I did!"

She flicked the tip of his ear. "Ok, no need to get your pants in a panic. You just seemed upset."

"Having just been frenched by mother's corpse, I think I'm entitled," Lathan snapped, flapping at her, and then sighed, "Sorry. Though, you're dead as well, so I don't why I'm apologising."

"But I am real, believe me. The troll doesn't know it but when he opened your mind to let in the nightmare, he let me in as well."

Real? It had to be a trick, surely. Sassi was dead, just like mother and father and everyone else he'd ever given a damn about. Maybe it was him. He was the kiss of death or something.

"Lathan, please don't think like that."

She could read his thoughts? Lathan's mind froze and then ran in circles desperately trying not to think of things that his little sister shouldn't see. He failed completely, his brain settling on an image of their half-undressed neighbour, as she'd been the day Lathan had accidentally scryed her.

Sassi giggled, pressing her hand to her mouth. "She would have been so angry with you if she'd known!"

"It was all an accident, honestly," Lathan argued. "I was trying to see inside our place and got the wrong door."

"Oh, Lathan, you are so bad at magic."

"That's exactly what Instructor Antheol used to say," Lathan said. "He probably didn't even miss me when I stopped attending his classes."

"I'm sure he did." Silence fell between them again, on Lathan's part because he was worrying about what to say next. How did you apologise for killing someone?

"It wasn't your fault."

Damnation, he'd forgotten the mind reading thing. "I might not have stuck a blade in you, Sassi, but it was my fault." This he wouldn't have taken away. It was his to have and hold.

For a while she didn't answer, and then she said, "Perhaps it was, a little. But, brother, the magisters and the rangers are the ones who must carry most of the blame. For all of this!" She gestured to the world around them, to them both – her dead and he – well, Lathan didn't have any idea where he was going or why, but he was doing it in chains.

And she was right. What sort of punishment was death for a theft anyway? Yes, the guardian had died and some valuable arcane objects had been destroyed, but that had been accidental. The original crime had simply been an attempt to steal a cheap trinket. To feed an addiction caused by the Prince destroying the Sunwell in the first place! Yes! It was their fault! Not his at all.

"Sassi!" he said, turning to her, wanting to share this stunning revelation. She was already smiling. She already knew.

But as he was about to speak, she interrupted him. "I know, I know. But I can't stay forever and I really need to tell you something before I go."

"Okay."

"It's very important, so listen carefully." She slipped her hand into his.

"I'm listening."

"The zeppelin from Durotar has arrived!"

"What?"

"All aboard for Durotar!"

The darkness faded along with Sassi, leaving him staring at the churning green cloud that passed for a midnight sky over Tirisfal Glades and Kel'jin's perpetually smirking face.

"Wakey, wakey, elf," the troll said. "Sweet dreamin's?"

The obvious reply was no, since kissing a corpse was not on Lathan's list of things he'd ever wanted to dream about, and yet he actually felt pretty good. Realer, more solid, than he had since Sassi died.

Looking Kel'jin straight in the eye, he replied, "Yes, thanks. I feel really great," and had the tremendous satisfaction of seeing that smirk replaced briefly by utter bafflement.

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Master Votrell met them at the base of the tower with two undead mounts in hand. Lathan couldn't help but stare at the beasts and wonder how on earth they didn't fall apart. Had the Scourge raised horses as well as people in Lordaeron? And if not, did that mean that someone amongst the Forsaken was still practising necromancy? Did they have a specialist horse necromancer?

"Up," Votrell said and boosted Lathan aboard the beast. Despite Kel'jin's protests, it was Votrell who climbed up in front, leaving the other mount for the troll.

The chill sweeping in off the lake was frigid. Lathan hunkered down behind Votrell's smaller form and tucked his borrowed cloak higher round his ears as they rode. Thankfully it wasn't far from the zeppelin tower to Undercity and the stone gates soon rose ahead of them, framed by black banners fluttering in the wind.

The first thing that struck Lathan was how obvious it was, since the place was falling down, that the city had been built by cementing small blocks of stone atop one another. Some of the blocks even bore tools marks, evidence that they'd been worked by hand. There were one or two places in Eversong Woods that bore similar marks of construction, but they were trollish places, barbaric and shunned by right thinking people. Now, granted humans were not elves and thus could hardly be expected to reach even the lowly heights achieved by the kaldorei, but still, it was shocking to find such primitive building techniques within what Lathan had always regarded as a bastion of human civilisation. If they lacked the mages themselves, surely Lordaeron had had ties to the Kirin Tor? Why not, then, ask them to raise a city in the proper way rather than rely on menial physical labour.

Still, he conceded as they walked the horses through the outskirts of the city, considering the limits they'd imposed upon themselves, he supposed the humans had done quite well. Here and there he could see where there had been beauty, even elegance of a kind. And as they reached the ruined courtyard outside what he assumed was the old palace, he had to admit that somehow what was left of the city retained a sense of quiet dignity, as though Arthas had destroyed Lordaeron's body but not its soul.

"We're for the Apothecarium," Votrell said as they passed through empty doorways into the deserted throneroom.

"Me thought we seein' the master, ya?" The troll was sounding distinctly sulky, which Lathan chalked up to his own chipper mood after the nightmare.

Votrell pulled his horse to a dancing halt. "Not in Undercity, you fool! I think someone would notice if he turned up here."

"Eh, heh," Kel'jin laughed. "Me never thought of it like that, man."

Votrell sniffed. "As far as I can tell, you never actually think at all. Now for goodness sake keep your mouth shut when we get there. The last thing we need is to attract Faranell's attention."

"Why?" Lathan asked before he could think better of it.

Votrell turned slowly, peering over his shoulder at Lathan as though he'd only just remembered that Lathan was there. Or more likely that he was a sentient being and not just a parcel needing to be delivered. "Because the Chief Apothecary likes to cut things up, and he doesn't often get his hands on elves," he said eventually. "So I would suggest that you also keep your mouth shut."

Lathan closed his with a snap. It was possible that Votrell was exaggerating, but then again, he might not be and Lathan wasn't about to take the risk.

Votrell spoke again, "In truth, perhaps you should do it properly, Kel'jin. There are things below and well…"

Kel'jin's face lit up for the first since they'd left the zeppelin. "Easy done, man," he chortled and leapt from his mount. From the depths of his robe, he produced the voodoo figurine with a happy flourish.

"Is this going to cause a scene?" Votrell asked as he dismounted and yanked Lathan down after him.

"A little. Mebbe."

Lathan was already on his feet and backing away. He had no idea what they were planning on doing to him, but he very much wanted to avoid a repeat of the previous night's events. His fingers still throbbed where the troll had bitten them.

He didn't get very far. Kel'jin crooked a finger at him and though it was the last thing he wanted to do, his feet took him straight back to the troll's side anyway.

"Through here," Votrell said, pushed them through an arch into an area that looked to be a little used passageway. "I'll hold the horses," he said. "Make it quick and try to keep the noise down."

"Heh!" Kel'jin laughed. "That not happenin', ya. The spirits gotta be asked just right, else nottin' doing."

Still sniggering happily, he hooked a hand in Lathan's collar and dragged him further down the passageway. Once the archway was a distance behind them, he pressed Lathan against the wall and hissed in his ear, "Open up you pretty mouth."

When Lathan obeyed, the troll immediately pressed thick fingers inside, sliding them up his tongue, making Lathan gag at the sensation. They were only there for a second, but it was long enough. The troll's mossy skin obviously exuded something, which not only tasted vile but sent Lathan's taste buds into complete overdrive. Within moments saliva poured from his mouth and despite his attempts to hawk and spit, it just kept coming. Coughing and retching, he leaned forward, gape-mouthed, letting the foul stuff drip onto the ground, since there was no way he was swallowing it.

Kel'jin, predictably amused by anything that caused Lathan discomfort, danced away, cackling madly. Brandishing the doll, he approached again a moment later and held the thing under Lathan's chin, and said, "Spit."

Lathan spat, hoping that was the only thing expected of him. No such luck.

"Here comes the fun bit," the troll said with a wicked smirk. Grabbing Lathan by the hair, he spun him round and tucked him back against his broad chest. Then, with a smirk, he gouged a piece the size of a cherry from the head of the doll with his thumbnail, popped rest away in his robes, and held the mossy chunk in front of Lathan's nose. "Down the hatch."

"No-!" Lathan started, but as soon as he – stupidly, stupidly! - opened his mouth, the troll's fingers were back inside, this time poking the lump right to the back of his throat. Lathan squirmed, trying desperately to get free, but Kel'jin simply closed a hand over Lathan's chin and nose, forcibly shutting his mouth, and tipped his head back against the troll's chest, pinning Lathan in place.

Lathan blinked up at him. The troll grinned back and began chanting in his own language.

For a moment nothing happened and then something moved in the back of Lathan's throat. He panted frantically through his nose, trying not to panic. If he panicked, he might choke and he had a sneaky feeling Kel'jin would let him. Oh, he'd probably revive him afterwards, but he'd let him choke first.

The troll's song rose, almost sweetly, bouncing off the surrounding stonework to create strange echoes, until one melody fused with another to become a throng, then an entire chorus. The thing, whatever it was and Lathan really didn't want to know, wriggled in time with the words Kel'jin was singing as though the two were somehow connected. Faster and faster they both went, wriggle and word, the former getting larger as the latter grew louder, both driving towards a crescendo, both pushing towards a perfect terrible harmony until –

"An'yweh!" Kel'jin screeched at the top of his voice and the thing in Lathan's throat exploded like a blob of jelly that clung and stuck, and would shift neither up or down no matter how much he coughed and swallowed and gagged when the troll released him.

Lathan dropped to his knees, poking his fingers down his throat trying to feel something to pull out. There had to be something and yet he found nothing. And slowly the urge to cough was fading, leaving only a faint thick feeling in its wake.

"Tell me you're finished. I think half the city heard that." It was Votrell with the mounts in tow.

"We done," Kel'jin said. "Ask him if you don't believe me, ya."

"Well?" Votrell poked Lathan with his foot.

Lathan lifted his head, ready to launch into a diatribe about trolls and their disgusting superstitious magic. But when he tried to speak, nothing happened. His mouth moved, air came out, but not a single sound emerged. Wide-eyed, he stared from Kel'jin to Votrell, who at least had the decency to look away.

They'd stolen his voice.

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The next part of the journey passed in something of a blur for Lathan. He was aware that their route led down, and down again, through a maze of dimly lit tunnels into the sewers and crypts where the Forsaken made their homes, but the detail escaped him. He was more concerned with trying to make a noise. Any noise.

By the time a few things began to penetrate, he'd ascertained that he could grunt and make an odd high pitched whining noise in the back of his nose. But apart from that, he was effectively mute. What he didn't understand was why. Why had they done it? If they'd just asked, he would have promised not to speak. Hells, if they'd ever bother to tell him what was going on at all, he might even agree to join in! But no. Apparently, it was easier to bespell and compel. And now he couldn't even comment on the smell of the abominations, or complain about the cold emanating from the odd flittering spirits populating some of the lower corridors.

They left the horses on one side of a massive bridge that arched out over a swiftly flowing river of putrid green fluid. The stench, and having to walk under his own power, made Lathan start concentrating and he held his cloak over his face as they crossed, noting that Kel'jin did the same. The smell didn't seem to bother Votrell one whit. A perk of being undead, perhaps? Certainly having no sense of smell would be an advantage if you stayed in Undercity for very long.

With Votrell leading the way, they quickly left shops and stalls behind and came to a steep ramp that wound round a massive contraption that was vomiting more of the green goo. Sitting at the top was a tiny figure, hardly bigger than the walls edging the ramp. A leper gnome, Lathan realised, like the ones owned by some storekeepers in Silvermoon.

"Ganoosh," Votrell called as they drew close. "Where's your master?"

"Oh, oh!" the gnome squeaked, leaping to its feet. "Terrible, terrible timing, sirs. Master is busy, very very busy. The Grand Apothecary is back from Shattrath and all is meetings and meetings and meetings."

"Putress is here?" Votrell looked about nervously. "That we could have done without. Did Bel'dugur leave a message?"

"Yes, yes, sirs, he did. He said to take the package downstairs and put it in the back. No one will see it, he said, because everyone is far far too busy."

"Downstairs, right." Votrell tugged his gauntlets back on. "Kel'jin, how close do you need to be keep control of the elf?"

"So long as me have the doll, he could be in Kalimdor," Kel'jin answered. "Only trouble is telling him what to do when me can't see him to know."

"That won't be a problem. Ganoosh, is anyone downstairs at the moment?"

"No, no, sirs. Everyone is meeting with the Lady. Everyone, everyone."

"In with Sylvanus, eh? It must be important. Okay, Kel'jin, bring the elf, and be ready to finish him on my say so. Ganoosh, you stay here and yell out if anyone comes."

Lathan found himself trotting after Kel'jin and Votrell as the pair hurried down the ramp.

As it turned out, it was probably a good thing that Lathan wasn't in charge of his own legs since, if he had been, he would undoubtedly have taken one look at the laboratories and run as far as he could in the opposite direction. There were bodies everywhere. Some dismembered, some sliced open, some hanging from hooks in the ceiling. Abominations and ghouls. Humans, dwarves and gnomes - both leperous and whole. And where there weren't bodies, there were bottles and vials and steaming cauldrons full of liquid that seethed and stank and could not possibly be healthy.

Finally they were through, into another dark passageway where the sounds of sobbing rose above their echoing footsteps. And a smell. Lathan gagged, pressing both hands to his face to try and mute the stench of too many bodies in too close a space.

"In here," Votrell said, pushing open a heavy wooden door. Inside were stacks and stacks of cages, each one containing a member of one race or another.

This had to be the stockroom, Lathan realised, and each resident was destined for dissection in the chambers of horrors. The cries for help which began as soon as the group entered, died away once the prisoners realised there was no rescue.

"At the back." Votrell pointed.

Kel'jin shoved Lathan towards an empty cage tucked behind the others. "In, in."

Lathan did as he was told, ducking his head to avoid smacking it on the door. As he'd passed through the labs, he'd truly thought his fear had peaked. He was wrong. That had been a mere fluttering in the belly compared to how he felt crawling into this base and foetid prison. The tears he'd been fighting won their victory and sprang to his eyes. Tears for himself, for his whole sorry life up until now. Surely whatever he'd done could not possible deserve this.

"Eh, what's that then?" Kel'jin leaned close, his finger pressing to Lathan's cheek. "You be tearin' up, elf. You no want to be doin' that, man. You not got nuttin to cry about. Yet." He fished in his robe and Lathan braced himself for the doll's reappearance. Kel'jin knew it as well, the bastard, smirking as he produced a tiny white feather which he spun happily in front of Lathan's face. "The gryphon, he be a brave one. Heart of the lion with all the brains of the eagle. This here's off the breast of the mightiest of all of them. Me pappy took it, along with the beast's leetle one, right from inside the aerie itself.

"But that's beside the point. The point is, this feather's got mojo." He touched the tip to the corner of Lathan's eye. "You blood let me hold you body, you spit give me you voice." Hot breath gusted across Lathan's ear as Kel'jin bent to whisper, "Wit' you tears, me have all you fear."

"Are you finished here? The last thing we want are any of those scalpel happy fools catching us."

"Relax, man, nearly done." Lathan's obvious terror was apparently not enough for the troll. Chortling quietly, he tugged the cloak up over Lathan's head and the last thing Lathan saw as it covered his face was the malice in Kel'jin's eyes as he said, "Member the dream on the flyin' machine? That am gonna seem like nottin' by the time me done with you." 


End file.
